Doom with a View (2 page)

“He
could
order him,” said Dutch in a way that suggested it wasn’t that easy. “But you’ve got to remember where Harrison is coming from. His grand-father was the former bureau chief and now his father is one level below that. This guy has political clout that Gaston—having come originally from the CIA—doesn’t carry. So even though Gaston outranks Harrison, he’s still got to tread carefully here, Abby. The only way Gaston can have you participate is if you go to D.C. and win over Harrison. Gaston has gotten the guy to at least agree to meet you, but that’s where his advocacy on your behalf is likely to end.”

I glanced at Candice, who was sitting in the other chair across from Dutch’s desk in his home office. I’d told Gaston at the get-go that the only way I’d agree to join in the investigation was if Candice came along too. “What do you think?” I asked her.

Candice took her time answering, which is one of the reasons I really like having her as my partner—she’s cool under pressure. “I think that, ultimately, this isn’t about someone else’s personal agenda. It’s about the missing kids. It’s about the frantic parents wanting an answer, and it’s about the bastard who will continue to take other parents’ kids and possibly hurt them until he’s stopped. I also think that you’re damn good at what you do, and I’m damn good at what I do, and we have no reason to apologize to anyone for how we make our living. So I think we should head to Washington and show this prick what we’re made of.”

I smiled as I mentally checked in with my crew—those spirit guides that help keep me on track and assist with my intuition—and they gave me a light airy feeling on the right side of my body. That’s a clear sign that they were okay with my getting involved.

With my mind made up, I turned back to Dutch and said firmly, “We’re going.”

Dutch was grinning too. “That’s my girl,” he said, then looked at Candice. “Keep her out of trouble this time, okay, Fusco?”

The corner of Candice’s mouth lifted. “Sometimes she doesn’t make it so easy.”

“Tell me about it,” he replied.

I rolled my eyes and got up from the chair. “Ha, ha,” I scoffed. “
Hilarity
from the peanut gallery. You two have fun with that. I’m off to pack.”

A little while later, Candice called to me from the bottom of the stairs that she’d be back at five a.m. sharp to pick me up for our flight; then I heard Dutch’s heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Hey, there, sweethot,” he purred in his best Hum phrey Bogart from the doorway while I folded a pair of jeans.

“Hey, yourself.” I smiled. “Are you gonna miss me?”

“Maybe,” he said coyly. Then his look got serious. “I meant what I said downstairs, Abs. You can quit anytime and come back on the first flight home. Put it on my credit card if you need to.”

I laughed. “I forgot, I’m hanging out with a millionaire these days.” I’d only recently learned that Dutch had a butt load of cash from a private security business he’d set up on the side years ago.

Dutch left the doorway and came to lie across the bed. “So you’re only into me for the money—is that it?” he said, lifting one of my thongs out of the suitcase and raising an eyebrow as if to suggest my underwear should be made of a little more fabric.

“Well, it’s certainly not for your looks,” I deadpanned. “I mean, with that chiseled, perfect face, those blue eyes, and all that muscle . . . jeez, are you a pity date or what?”

Dutch lifted his chin and laughed before he dropped the thong and wrapped one of those delightfully muscular arms around my middle, tugging me to the bed. Nuzzling my neck, he said, “Part of me really doesn’t want to let you out of my sight.”

I pulled away just a bit and looked him square in the eyes. “I’ll be fine,” I said, but couldn’t help noticing the tiny bit of energy on my left side that indicated I might need to be careful.

“Oh, I know you’ll be all right,” he said with a smirk. “You’ll be surrounded by federal agents—good luck getting into trouble with those guys around.”

“So what’s all this about not wanting me out of your sight?” I asked, running my fingers through his short blond hair.

“I’ll miss you,” he said simply.

I clasped both sides of his face and stared into those gorgeous midnight blue eyes. “I’ll be home soon,” I promised, and was only mildly surprised when the light and airy energy running along my right side said I’d hit that one on the head.

The next morning Candice and I flew out of Detroit Metro Airport on a direct flight to D.C. Candice slept the whole way. I fidgeted, bounced my knee, and basically drove myself crazy from takeoff to landing. She woke up right before the landing gear dropped. Stretching in her seat and sitting up, she took in my rather anxious appearance and said, “Would you relax?”

“What a fabulous suggestion!” I’m not so friendly when I’m uptight.

Candice rubbed her eyes, yawned, then gave me the once-over again. “Can I ask you something?” she said, squinting at the skirt and blazer I was wearing.

I sighed. “If you must.”

Candice made a face of distaste and said, “Did you by any chance purchase that outfit during the Reagan administration?”

I rolled my eyes and my knee bounced more vigorously. “You know my entire wardrobe is casual,” I snapped. “This was the best I could come up with given the limited choices I had.” Self-consciously I tugged on the sides of my blazer, which, for the record, was
not
purchased during the Reagan administration . . . but during the Bush years, and so what if by that I mean the first one!

Candice’s face softened. “Well,” she mused, “I suppose you did the best you could, but what’s up with your hair these days, honey?”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” I screeched loudly enough for people to turn in their seats and stare at us.

Candice held up a lock of my waist-length hair. “It’s lookin’ a little ragged, my friend.”

My eye darted to the end of the strands in her hand and I had to admit, it did sort of appear that my last haircut had been performed by a machete. “Yeah, well, I haven’t had a chance to get my hair done in a while,” I growled.

“You’re kidding,” Candice deadpanned, but she added a smile.

“This conversation is doing
nothing
to make me feel better about meeting Harrison,” I grumbled.

Candice’s smile widened. “You’re right. Sorry,” she said. After a prolonged silence where my knee continued to bounce, she added, “This probably isn’t going to be as bad as you think.”

“Oh, trust me,” I said with absolute certainty, “it’s going to be far worse.”

Candice shrugged her shoulders and moved her seat to its upright position. Glancing at her watch, she noted, “At least our flight’s on time.”

“Yippee,” I said woodenly.

“Are you going to be like this the entire time we’re here?”

“Count on it,” I said, bouncing my knee again.

Candice and I got our luggage from baggage claim and went in search of a taxi. We’d been informed that Gaston had made arrangements for us to stay at the Sheraton near the bureau, and we decided to check in first, then head over to meet Harrison.

After depositing our luggage in our rooms, we went back out to hail another cab. We told the cabbie that we wanted to go to the FBI D.C. Field Office, and he looked both of us up and down twice before he faced forward and pulled out into traffic.

“What time is it?” I asked Candice.

“Two minutes later than the last time you asked. Seriously, Sundance,” she said, using the new nickname she’d come up with after watching a documentary on Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid the week before, “you really do need to chill out. These guys are like dogs. They can smell fear, and if you go into this meeting a big blob of nerves, Harrison’s going to intimidate the hell out of you and completely dismiss you. He’ll be far more impressed if you show up looking cool. He won’t be expecting confidence.”

“But I’m not confident,” I admitted, and I wasn’t even talking about my new self-consciousness over my rather dated outfit and frizzy hair.

“Who says you have to be?” she replied with a wink. “Abby, this meeting is about perceptions. If Harrison can’t rattle you, then he’ll have some respect for you. Right now we know he’s not open to hearing much of what you have to tell him. He’s beyond skeptical—he’s close-minded. But what he doesn’t understand is that you really
are
the real deal. He’s not prepared for that, and if you can just
appear
to have some confidence and hold up under his scrutiny, I’m positive he’ll be surprised.”

I sat with that for a bit, letting the words settle into me, and realized she was absolutely right. Who was this asshole to outright dismiss me without even hearing what I had to say or being shown what I could do? The nerve!

So by the time the cabbie pulled up to the impressive marble Washington Field Office on Fourth Street, I had settled down and had a pretty determined mind-set.

It helped a lot to walk in with Candice, who, at five feet nine inches of elegant ash-blond beauty, is the epitome of confidence. She strolled into the building like she owned the place and walked straight to the information desk. We waited in line behind a few other people with appointments before getting our turn.

“Abigail Cooper and Candice Fusco here to see Assistant Special Agent in Charge Brice Harrison,” said Candice as she stepped up to one of the big, burly men with a badge behind the desk.

Big and Burly glanced at his computer screen, clicked a few keys, then told us to wait in reception. We moseyed over to two unoccupied seats and sat down. On a nearby credenza was complimentary coffee. “Cup a joe?” Candice asked, getting up from her seat as soon as she spotted the beverage.

“No thanks,” I said. I was jittery enough without adding caffeine to the mix.

I glanced at a clock on the wall. It was ten minutes to ten. Our appointment with Harrison was at ten, so I closed my eyes and took some nice deep breaths while focusing on trying to appear confident. I heard Candice come back to her seat and quietly sip her coffee next to me. Surprisingly I really did feel calmer after a few minutes.

At one minute to ten, I opened my eyes and smiled at my partner. “Feeling better?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

“Yep,” I said. “I’m good.”

“Excellent. He should be here any minute, and don’t worry, in this light your outfit isn’t so bad.” I gave her a withering look. And she smiled radiantly back at me. “Just don’t let him see you sweat,” she advised.

“Roger.”

“And if it starts to get confrontational, and you begin to feel pressured, give me a nod and I’ll step in.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” I said, really glad that I’d insisted on Candice’s coming along to help out.

The big hand settled on the twelve, then moved at a snail’s pace past it, then way past; then it settled on the six and it was really hard to continue to appear calm and collected. Finally, I got up and approached the front desk again. Big and Burly gave me a rather dull once-over. “Yes?” he asked.

I forced a friendly smile onto my face and said, “I was just wondering—do you know if Agent Harrison has been informed that we’re waiting for him out in reception? Our appointment was at ten, and it’s now half past, so I’m worried that he missed being told we were here.”

“He’s aware,” said Burly.

My eyes widened. “Ah,” I said at last. “Okay, then.”

Burly just stared at me with narrowed eyes. I had a feeling he didn’t like me too much.

“I’ll wait over there, nice and quiet-like, then,” I said, turning to retreat quickly back to my seat next to Candice.

“What’s the word?” she asked as I sat down.

“Harrison knows we’re here. That’s all I got out of the ray of sunshine at the desk.”

Candice eyed the clock. “Oldest tactic in the book,” she said, setting her empty cup down on the side table next to her. “Keep them waiting, make them impatient, and get them off-balance. Trust me, he’s going to hold out until he thinks we’re good and angry, and then show up without an apology.”

“So he should be showing up any second, then, right?” I groused. I
was
good and angry.

“Oh, I’ll bet he makes us wait a tad bit longer,” she said with a smirk before stretching her legs, leaning her head back against the wall, and closing her eyes. “Wake me in an hour, would you?”

“You’re joking!” I gasped. “You really think he’ll be an hour and a half late?”

“Oh, I think he’ll be even later,” she said. “If I were him, I’d make us sit here until ten minutes to noon. Then I’d show up with an attitude and announce that I had a luncheon appointment and ask if we could make it snappy.”

My mouth dropped open. “Please be kidding.”

“You wait,” she said. “You’ll see.”

As it turned out, Candice was very good at predicting Harrison’s behavior. At eleven forty-five she got up and motioned for me to follow. We headed to reception again and Candice eyed Big and Burly with her own rather dull expression.

“Yes?” he said with just the tiniest bit more enthusiasm than he’d used to address me.

“Please inform Agent Harrison that we waited patiently for him to make an appearance. However, we have other business to attend to. If he would still like to meet with us, he may reach us via this number.” She slid her card toward Burly.

He eyed her card and nodded.

“Please further inform Agent Harrison that if we do not hear from him by five p.m., we will make Special Agent in Charge Gaston aware of what transpired here today, and head back to Michigan.”And with that, Candice turned and walked away toward the doors.

I was caught a bit off guard by her sudden departure, but quickly recovered myself and hurried after her. Once outside I asked, “Do you think he’ll call us?”

Candice smiled as she raised her arm high to hail a cab. “Yes,” she said. “But he’ll wait until four fifty-five or so.”